


If you were a song

by VenezuelanWriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Making Out, dean isn't a fan of junk food, reverse tastes, rock fan Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 09:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenezuelanWriter/pseuds/VenezuelanWriter
Summary: Cas likes rock, Dean is pining after him, a suspiciously convenient case comes up, and nothing is really what it seems.





	1. The melody of humanity and heartfelt gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, first and foremost, to [drawlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drawlight/works?fandom_id=27): she's the wonderful artist of this fic and you can check the art masterpost right [ HERE](https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/187860279394/title-if-you-were-a-song-author-venezuelanwriter).
> 
> Also special thanks to [ Jess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrrationallyExcited/pseuds/IrrationallyExcited/works)[](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrrationallyExcited/pseuds/IrrationallyExcited/works) and to Marly (HistoryMightBeFun on Discord) for betaing this for me!!!  
I dedicate the initial poem to my boyfriend: you're my favorite song and I love you.

If you were a song, you’d be a beat

worth of playing on repeat.

You’d sound like peace,

Would be a masterpiece.

I’d dance to your beat to feel you close,

And grasp as we kiss the instruments that play your soul.

You’d be the soundtrack to miracles,

A symphony for the invencible.

If you were a song, you’d be my favorite one.

* * *

Since Cas lost his grace, he’d changed a lot, in Dean’s opinion.

For starters, his look had gone from clean-and-neat angelic entity to almost-hippie-from-the-future Cas.

Okay, not that much, but human Cas definitely didn’t worry about having more often than not a scruffy, unkempt stubble adorning his face, and after discovering how uncomfortable his suit and trench actually were, he never wore more than a round-neck t-shirt and jeans.

Which was, for Cas’s standards, like seeing him naked. 

He’d also developed a love for burgers and greasy food in general. Dean wished he’d copied his own healthy habits, but apparently since he had his own tastes Cas’s plans were to turn into the opposite of Dean's.

(Although they say opposites attract, right?)

Finally, to top it all, Cas had developed a love for rock music. For rock! Of all music genres out there, Cas liked the one Dean couldn’t begin to understand.

Besides angry dudes with guitars and hot chicks in the videos, that’s it.

After a vampire hunt went a little sideways, though, was not the moment Dean had imagined himself recalling all of that in his mind.

“Dude, seriously?” Dean asked from the passenger seat of his own car, keeping a hand firm against his torso, so the bleeding wound wouldn’t ruin the leather.

It wasn’t too bad, just the graze of an angel blade on the surface of his skin. He actually could’ve driven, but Cas was in perfect shape and he’d insisted on taking them home. Sam was waiting for them in the bunker; he’d stayed because it wasn’t supposed to be a complicated hunt.

“Sorry, sunshine,” Cas said, shrugging, “but driver picks the music, or so I’ve heard.”

Dean rolled his eyes, hurt from his own line being used against him.

Just before the chorus came up —yes, because Dean knew this song already from Cas listening so many times to it in the bunker—, Cas turned up the volume. 

“_ Ramble on and now's the time, the time is now to sing my song _,” Cas sang along, tapping on the steering wheel with his fingers.

Dean glared at him, loud and serious. He had to admit Cas looked nice, relaxed despite the circumstances and enjoying something as mundane as music so much.

Cas just smiled, maybe knowing Dean wasn’t that annoyed for the soundtrack of their ride.

No, Dean didn’t dislike it.

Led Zeppelin, rock in general, it sounded like Cas.

And he liked that sound a lot.

-

Dean sat at the table in the corner of his bedroom, whiskey bottle a quarter down already. After that nasty shapeshifter hunt, some drinks with himself would suit him well.

Sam was back in town, buying groceries. Dean’s theory was that he was finding an excuse to stay out of the bunker: when they came close to killing each other by mistake, space was something nice to have. 

That’s why he knew the knock on his door was Cas.

“Come in.”

“Dean?” Cas asked.

The spot where Dean sat was hidden and Cas sounded confused when he didn’t see Dean on his bed. He stepped around the door and smiled.

“There you are.” He took a seat in front of Dean. Eyeing the whiskey, he asked, “Can I?” and grabbed the bottle.

“Serve yourself,” Dean said, pointing to the opposite wall, where there was a small shelf with glasses.

Cas turned around and Dean eyed him from head to toe, thinking about his warmth, so much more present now that he was a human, and how it made him so damn appealing.

Cas turned around with the glass in hand. He sat in front of Dean and poured himself some amber drink. “I’ve got something for you,” Cas said, before sipping from the glass.

“Another case? Bad news?” Dean asked. Cas’s shoulders tensed and hunched at the same time. “Sorry. Bad day.”

“It’s a gift,” Cas explained, grabbing something from his jean pocket and placing it on the table. When he moved his hand from it, Dean saw what it was: a tape titled _ Cas’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx _. Dean looked up, finding so much caring in those blue eyes he almost shivered. Cas added, “So maybe you can start enjoying the music I like.”

Dean contemplated the tape on the table, as if touching it might’ve made it go away. He read the title over and over again, seeing the details of Cas’s nice, clean handwriting and considering what that gift meant. It was so personal, and unexpected, and _ nice _. Dean wasn’t used to nice things like this.

He licked his lips, finally finding sounds in his vocal chords. “Why 13?”

Cas’s tone was light when he answered, “Because I have 13 favorites, I guess.” Dean nodded in silence, carefully grabbing the tape. “Anyway, I know it’s not your style,” he sighed, “but I hope you like it.”

“It’s awesome, Cas,” Dean rushed to say. He wanted to touch Cas’s hand over the table, squeeze it and caress his knuckles. But he didn’t. It would’ve been awkward and even Cas would know that. “Thank you. I-I’ll listen to it tonight.”

The grin Cas gave him,_ goddammit. _

“You’ll have to tell me tomorrow what did you think.”

Dean nodded vehemently. “I promise I will.”

\- 

Probably, the only thing better than Cas loving rock so much, singing to 70’s hits all day and dropping fun facts of the genre during the oddest moments —like, while they dug graves—, was Cas wearing band shirts.

Dean had no idea where he got them, already with the faded print and everything, but Cas looked _ hot _with that worn out AC/DC tee.

Maybe because it was thin and Dean could almost make out the muscles on Cas’s back as he washed the dishes, maybe because it reminded him of his own old tees.

“If you remember something else,” Sam said —were they even having a conversation?— “call me.”

Sam grabbed a grocery list from a notepad and then Dean connected the dots in his head. “Right, yeah. Sure.”

Sam gave him a look, because he knew Dean too well not to know he hadn’t been paying attention, but waved his goodbye anyway without saying anything about it.

Dean cleared the table, handing Cas the plates.

Cas, in the meanwhile, was _ of course _ humming to some rock tune Dean didn’t know.

It wasn’t one of the mixtape; which, by the way, listening for the first time after a few drinks wasn’t a great idea.

Not when you liked the friend who gave it to you, not when said friend had just left your room and your mind was convinced that the smell stuck in your nose was his (and not from the shampoo all of you idiots use).

(Maybe now Dean had an obsession with _ I can’t quit you baby _, and with how accurate the song was for a makeout session.)

“You know,” Cas said, snapping Dean to reality, “this song makes me think of you.”

“What song?” Dean asked, before his brain short circuited.

Cas kept humming the beats of the song, imitating what Dean guessed were the instruments, until he sang quietly “_ Love and hunger _,” he kept his instruments sounds, probably a battery or something— “It’s very good,” he finally said, interrupting his own singing.

“Why does it make you think of me?” He asked, leaning on the counter next to Cas, just watching him wash the dishes and cutlery.

Cas shrugged casually. “It’s like you: always angry.”

Dean snorted, strangely satisfied with the answer he got.

Cas turned to him, eyes soft on Dean. Was he imagining that? That little spark, the light behind his eyes, the thousands of unsaid words that Dean was thinking about— Was Cas feeling that too?

“I’ll play it for you in the war room speakers,” Cas said, turning off the faucet and breaking the moment.

It only confirmed to Dean that it wasn’t a moment at all.

-

It was in the middle of a laundry session that it hit Dean: he was a total creep.

He was pining after Cas, always giving him those sad stares of longing, craving his touch and feeling special for things Cas also did with Sam —he was not even joking. He’d felt special just because Cas had hugged him the day before. The guy was a hugger! It was no big deal!

And, besides, Dean was doing the laundry and contemplating his shirts, holding them out like they were a masterpiece just because they belonged to Cas.

The cotton was soft under his fingers. It was a black round-neck shirt, worn out and thin. It had a fading logo on the center Dean didn’t recognize, but his best guess was Guns ‘N Roses.

It also smelled like Cas still. Not in a bad way, but of his deodorant, maybe some soap of his, or his shaving cream, or whatever supply he needed now because he was human.

And there it was again: the reminder of Cas’s humanity that had Dean crazier for him every day that passed. 

So yeah, he was in fact a total creep.

He couldn’t go as far as sniffing the damn shirt, because if he did that then he’d personally ask Sam to get him to a shrink.

He couldn’t help but imagining, though, just briefly, how great Cas’s nipples would feel, hard under the shirt.

It was a kink of his, the image of hard things through clothes, and Cas seemed like the kind of guy who would enjoy it. Dean liked to think so, at least.

“Dean-”

He jumped, recognizing Cas’s voice luckily with enough time to put the shirt in the washing machine and act like he wasn’t about to get a hard on for looking at a fuckling t-shirt.

“Hey, Cas, what’s up?”

Dean turned to Cas, who carried a bundle of clothes, mostly gray and black. Dean spotted the blue one, though, the one he loved so much on Cas because it brought out the color of his eyes.

“Sam told me you were doing laundry. I had more dirty clothes.”

“Cool,” Dean said, receiving the pile in his arms, the smell hitting his nose again just briefly, and putting the shirts in the washer.

If only he could hug Cas, bury his nose in his neck, kiss him— 

God, he was despicable. It was wrong, and immoral, and weird, and what would Cas even think of him if he knew he’s sexualixing him so much without his consent? Or, like, without even suspecting that Dean was into guys?

“Dean? Are you alright?”

“Better than ever, buddy.”

“You were distracted.”

Dean nodded. Great, because he was not only creepy and a terrible friend. He was also a rude human being who couldn’t pay attention to a single conversation.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“That maybe you should take off that shirt to wash too,” he said, pointing to the one Dean was wearing. “You’d look better without it, anyway.”

Cas was smooth, but in his eyes there was a slight trace of insecurity. Dean felt his cheeks heating, kind of shocked. He giggled, though, and Cas did the same. It probably was a joke, anyway.

“I’ll be cleaning with Sam,” Cas offered, leaving.

“Noted,” Dean almost whispered, still too caught in Cas’s commentary.

-

Since the memorable mixtape gift, that Dean treasured with his whole life, Dean had been thinking about a discman he and Sam had when they were kids. He wanted to give Cas back something meaningful, too, in the shape of music.

When he found it, buried under hunting guns and utilities in Baby’s trunk, memories quickly flooded him: his childhood, all the difficult moments Air Supply got him through, all the times he shared it with Sammy so they wouldn’t feel alone when their dad wasn’t around.

He wondered how the thing never actually got lost and if it was still functioning. He wouldn’t question, either, how it was there for so many years and he never noticed.

As he clicked on the buttons and it opened, sending dust in all directions, he confirmed he wanted Cas to have it.

They didn’t have CDs anymore and Cas comfortably listened to music on his phone, but if Cas could give him a mixtape, why couldn’t he give him a discman?

Taking it inside, he planned what he’d burn on the CD. First, there had to be 13 songs. His favorite, of course. A couple of Bee Gees hits, and a few Abba songs, and ballads by brilliant singers like Billy Joel and John Denver...

Cas would love it.

Once in his bedroom, he grabbed pen and paper to write the list of songs. He was still on the second word when he was startled by someone opening the door.

“Dammit, Sam!”

Sam frowned. “Sorry. Uh, Eileen sent us a case,” he pointed to the tablet in his hand. “Got a feeling Cas’s gonna like it.”

And before Dean had the chance to ask what was that supposed to mean, Sam left.

The CD would have to wait.


	2. A choir of angels sings, as we kiss

Cas walked into the war room, wearing his Aerosmith tee and cotton shorts to his knees. He was eating cereal from the box.

“What’s the case?” He asked.

“Sam says you’ll like it,” Dean answered, “so I’m pretty curious.”

Sam sat behind the map table and opened a file on the tablet. Dean leaned over his shoulder to look and Cas did the same.

“There’s a group of demigods,” Sam explained “pretending to be a rock band, touring through the country and turning people into familiars. They call themselves The Oracle.”

Sam swiped some photos on the tablet; they showed a group of three guys with black clothes performing on different stages.

Cas asked, “Animal familiars?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Eileen thinks they could be sons of Hecate, the goddess of crossroads and ghosts.”

“Why collecting pets?” Dean asked.

“It’s what their mother did, apparently. Eileen sent me all the lore she could find on familiars anyway. She’s moving to another case closer to where she is.”

“And where are these dudes, again?” Dean asked.

“Well, according to their official website,” Sam said, opening it on the screen. He passed the tablet to Dean and Dean showed it to Cas. “They’ll be in Vegas in two days.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, knowing it was evident how excited he was.

“Give me that,” Cas asked for the tablet and eyed the site quickly, “I’d never before been this happy for a case.They’ll play a Tribute to Jimi Hendrix there.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “I imagined you would feel that way.”

“We leave tonight?” Dean asked, clapping his hands loudly.

“I don’t see why not,” Sam said. “I’ll grab some books from the library that could be useful.”

He left, and Dean decided he’d do the same before seeing Cas so happy about dudes in leather made him unjustifiably jealous.

-

Four hours of road in, Dean asked from behind the wheel, “Anything on how to kill those SOBs yet?”

“It’s actually _ that _SOB. It’s not all three members that are demigods. Just the lead vocalist, Dylan Stevens.”

“How do you know?” Cas asked.

“I’m checking further into their backgrounds. This guy was kicked out from three schools and had to move over states because he sacrificed his classmates pets.”

“Ewgh. Well, I can’t complain about having less of a job to do.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “and it all leads me to think that the stake we used on Gabriel could work.” On the rearview mirror, Dean saw Cas peeking over the seat to read the book on Sam’s lap. “This says it’ll ‘turn to dust at the end of the right blade, covered in the brightest red”.

“Brightest red?” Cas asked.

“Fresh blood, right?” Dean said.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Sam said.

“Now, getting close enough to kill him,” Dean said, “that’s the fun part.”

“Back in the The Elysian Fields, we only survived because we were going to work with them,” Sam said.

Cas intervened in the conversation with a crazy thought, an impulse of an idea, with something that clearly was off the table: “I could seduce him.”

The Impala almost skidded on the pavement. “What?” Dean asked, jaw tense and eyes piercing on the mirror.

Cas shrugged. “Yes. I could get close enough, and do it.”

“What are you even talking about, Cas?” Dean said. “You don’t have to do that. We’ll find another way.”

“I find it challenging to put myself in that situation.”

“The guy could turn you into a fucking guinea pig and you think it’s challenging to try to seduce him?”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to do something for you-”

“Guys!” Sam intervened. “Guys. Listen. We’ll figure it out when we get there, alright? The concert is still more than a day away. We’ll see what we can do.”

-

When they got to the motel, most of the tension had already dissipated. There was nothing the right songs couldn’t do —only a psycho wouldn’t love The Beatles.

“I’ll get coffee,” Cas said, gripping the handle. “Do you want any?”

Sam nodded, looking at his tablet. “Please, Cas.”

“Dean?”

Dean, looked up from his duffel bag, a little startled. “Oh, yeah, Cas. Sure. Thanks.”

Cas offered a shy smile and left. Dean couldn’t help the little flutter in his chest after that. It was still scary sometimes, the effect Cas had on him.

He decided not to keep thinking about it, though. They had a case on their hands and they had a deadline before the demigod left.

He got out from the duffel bag the wooden stake and looked at it closely.

“What if we make bullets out of this?” He asked Sam.

Sam put the iPad on the table, looking at Dean. “We certainly could. And then what, aim for the head?”

“It’s a safe play, isn’t it? Or how are we getting a wooden stake in a bar?”

“About that,” Sam said. He sat on the bed next to Dean’s duffel. “I think we should follow Cas’s plan.”

Dean was sure his forehead would be marked for life with the lines of his current frown. “Sam, you cannot be serious about considering that.”

“Dean,” Sam repeated, sounding tired and exasperated. “Okay, you have a point, but we’re always doing the exact same thing: putting ourselves at risk for the greater good.”

“And this is Cas! He has nowhere near enough experience fighting without his powers.”

“And we’ll be there, too. Are you sure this isn’t about the fact that he’s going to seduce the guy?”

A panic wave hit Dean. “Of course not! Why would it be?” Sam gave him a sharp look, and maybe Dean had overdone it. “Okay, it caught me off guard, but nothing else.”

_ It has nothing to do with Dylan Stevens’ perfect blond hair, and the fact that’s very likely Cas actually finds him attractive. _

“Right. Whatever you say.”

Dean realized that, by not arguing anymore, he was accepting to go with the plan. Which, hold on a second— 

“I mean, how do we even know the guy’s into guys? What if he turns Cas down right away and there goes our plan?”

“Well, you know what they say: it takes one to know one.”

Dean was still realizing the implications of what Sam said when the door opened.

Cas carried a paper tray in hand with three coffees. Where had he even gone? The lobby?

It was like Cas had read his mind: “I asked the receptionist for a place,” he said. “She suggested the coffee shop across the street.”

Dean and Sam took their cups and tried the coffee. “It’s good, at least,” Dean said.

“Very,” Sam agreed.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cas said, giving his own coffee a sip.

Dean looked at him, and the way he drank the coffee so deliberately, not swallowing it right away but actually savoring it. Dean couldn’t shake the thought out of his head of how would dense, sweet, good coffee taste on Cas’s mouth.

He needed to pull the breaks or one day he’d be collecting his hair in Ziplocks or something even worse. Thank God they were supposed to be busy with a case.

“So, Cas,” Dean said, forcing himself to focus on that, “what did you have in mind for the plan?”

Maybe there was a little bit of appreciation in Cas’s eyes, and surprise, too, but he didn’t address it when he spoke. “I was thinking we go to the concert, he thinks I’m alone, I flirt with him, take him somewhere private, alley outside, maybe, and you shoot at it. It should work, right?”

Dean nodded. He wasn’t in love with the idea, but it was more than he’d come up with as an alternative.

“Right,” Sam said. “I’ll do some research on the place, see if I can find the blueprints somewhere to find the exits and potential back-up plans. We’ll do just fine.”

“Wow,” Dean said, full of sarcasm, “even back-up plans. We should start a wiki on how to be real heroes.”

Cas, as odd as it was, actually snorted at Dean’s attempt of a joke.

Dean couldn’t help but feel lucky to hear that sound.

-

Dean knew Cas had to look more attractive than usual. Seducing a stranger was part of their plan, after all.

But damn, did he have to look so sexy? Was he even _ trying _to look like he was the most edible being on Earth?

Cas was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, door open, fussing with the last few unruly strands of his hair. He had some product Dean wasn’t familiar with that he knew Cas didn’t normally use, making his hair intentionally messy but perfectly balanced and visually pleasant at the same time. 

From where Dean was outside, in the lobby of the room, he eyed Cas from head to toe. He was wearing a convenient Jimi Hendrix shirt, not as old as many others he owned, that defined the muscles of his arms sweetly, highlighting how strong they were.

The edge of the shirt was almost perfectly parallel with the top of his jeans, which made Dean want to focus a little too much on every movement Cas made that could possibly mean the shirt pulled up and showed part of his skin.

And the jeans, well. Not that Dean could look too closely without Sam or Cas himself noticing, but they were tighter than usual, like he’d put them in a dryer a few times in a row. They clinged to his pretty ass, full thighs, and all the way down his legs.

“Good?” Cas asked, leaving the bathroom.

Dean felt the air in his chest being punched out as he thought of an answer. _ Way hotter than usual. _“Uh, yeah. You’ll catch his eye, for sure.” He shrugged, finding as fast as possible something else to look at.

Sam glanced over at Cas quickly, nodding. “Yes, now all you have to do is scream ‘Eat me’ in the crowd.” Cas’s expression was dumbfounded for a moment. Sam added, “Metaphorically speaking. Do not scream that.”

Cas nodded. “Right, sure. So,” Cas looked at a clock on the nightstand, “I guess I’ll get going, right? The concert starts 40 in minutes and we’re like 20 from there.”

Dean didn’t like that part of the plan. Not that he liked any part, but the particular idea of Cas leaving early —so no one would suspect he wasn’t alone—, made him uncomfortable in a different way that the thing of Cas flirting with the guy.

What if something happened to him on his way there? Or once he got there, the guy attacked before Sam and Dean arrived?

“Yeah,” Dean finally snapped out of his thoughts. “Sam and I will leave in a few. We’re ready anyway. Aren’t we, Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam closed his laptop and passed a hand through his hair. “I’m ready.”

“We’ll meet you there,” Dean told Cas, then, getting a small smile in return.

-

In the bar, the lights were dim and the air was charged with electricity.

Sam and Dean leaned against the bar table, while Cas was part of a small crowd gathered in front of the stage where the band performed; he was in the first row and pretending very well to enjoy being there.

In fact, Dean didn’t think he was even pretending.

Whenever he wasn’t covered by other people behind him, Dean clearly saw Cas singing to all the lyrics, even jumping from time to time when he was feeling the beat too much.

And… there it was: skin of his lower abdomen revealed. Was Cas always so toned? When had the combination of words ‘toned skin’ became a thing for Dean and from what romance novel did he get it from?

“All good?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Just checking up on Cas, making sure everything’s going as planned.”

Sam nodded, sipping from his beer. “You know, part of the plan is pretending we don’t know him and being subtle about that part, too.”

“Whatever. The demon is too busy performing anyway.”

“It’s a demigod.” Dean only remarked his _ whatever _with his face. “Dude, it’s not like I haven’t noticed.”

“Huh?”

“That you’re into him. It’s pretty obvious, actually.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but real life isn’t a soap opera where everyone you know is in love with each other.”

That’s how he would define himself? As someone _ in love _with Cas?

“Just saying, it’s just as obvious that he likes you, too. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

Dean couldn’t admit it to Sam. And it’s not like they weren’t in the middle of a serious thing, where Cas’s life was potentially in danger, to give much thought to the idea of Cas returning his feelings. 

As the performance came to an end, the crowd dispersed. Cas waited until the band members put their microphones in place and left the stage. He was standing on the side of it, waiting for Dylan, the demigod and lead singer.

Dean read Cas from his spot. He was clearly flirting, smiling too much and even placing a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, sliding it down his arm.

Dean had never felt sicker in his entire life.

Dylan nodded, pointing to behind the stage, and Cas also nodded and pointed with his thumb behind his back, where the bar was.

“Well, Cas is coming,” Dean announced. Sam turned slightly over his shoulder, nodding at the familiar peripheral perception of Cas.

“Great,” Sam said.

Dean noticed Cas exchanging a final smile with the demigod before going to the bar. He stayed a few customers away from Sam and Dean.

Cas ordered something Dean couldn’t make out with the fairly loud music that remained playing on the place speakers.

The nice, brunette barista served him two shots of something. Dean learned then it was tequila, as he saw that they were served with slices of lemon and a little salt shaker.

When Dylan returned, Dean had to focus his stare in Sam’s eyes. If he didn’t, he’d probably look like a creep spying on strangers. It was just too difficult to ignore what they were doing, being all close and friendly.

Who knew Cas could do well in a social situation like that? He was naturally kind, but where did he even learn how to flirt?!

“I guess it’s working, right?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded curtly. “It’s working perfectly.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at the sound of Cas cracking up with easy laughter. They had to give him he was a good actor.

What if he wasn’t acting, though? Just like with actually enjoying the music… what if-

No. Dean knew Cas better than that. Cas would never feel genuinely attracted to someone he knew had done evil.

Right?

Dean sipped from his beer and looked briefly past Sam’s shoulder. Cas was giggling, putting salt on his wrist before Dylan licked it off and drank his shot.

“Dean, everything alright?” Sam asked.

Maybe his face was as fiery as it felt. He gulped. “Peachy. Everything’s going as we planned.”

He had to endure at least five more minutes of torture, Cas looking so intently into Dylan’s bright eyes —he wasn’t even a real guy! That was unfair!— and being all touchy and close to him, before they miraculously decided to go to the back of the bar.

That was their cue.

“Let’s kill a demigod and save the day,” Dean said, Sam following behind.

“Yes.”

When they walked into the restrooms, they were deserted except for Cas and Dylan. Considering it was a bar on a show night, they place was decent. It was… clean, and didn’t _ smell _.

Cas was leaning against the washers, the demigod between his legs. Dylan leaned in to kiss Cas.

It all happened too fast: the rage filling Dean, he and Sam shooting their weapons with trained aim, and nothing but flying dark blue dust in Cas’s middle.

Dean put his gun away in the back of his jeans, rushing to Cas as Sam’s voice dissolved in the back of his mind to background noise.

“Cas,” he almost whispered, already in front of him. “Are you alright?” He put a tentative hand on his shoulder, covered in blue molecules. “That guy was all over you and-”

Cas snorted. “C’mon, Dean, I had it under control.” He stood fully on his feet, ducking his head to a side. It’s like he was screaming _ What are you, jealous? _ with his pose.

“I was just worried,” Dean mumbled, not hesitating to drape a hand behind Cas’s back and pulling him in for a half-hug.

Cas hugged Dean back, his hands on Dean’s waist. He nuzzled against Dean’s neck, sending chills down his spine. He whispered against his shoulder, “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Dean felt a terrible weight leaving his chest. The world came down to Cas and the conversation they were having. He had to be honest —he _ wanted _to be. “Does it even matter?” 

They pulled back, staring into each other’s eyes. Cas’s were bluer than usual; they were a pool of calmness and Dean would dare describing them as sublime.

“It matters, Dean,” Cas said, hand cupping Dean’s face, “because I don’t want anything to do with that guy.” He passed the thumb over his cheekbone. “Or with anyone that isn’t you.”

Dean felt his eyes flickering. “What?”

Cas’s grinned widely, so much even his eyes were smiling by themselves. “What?” He asked back, putting a hand behind Dean’s neck and the other on firm his waist. _ Oh God, _that’s why girls liked that so much.

When Dean leaned in closer to Cas, his stomach dropped.

With Cas’s breath on his lips, he knees went weak.

And when they met halfway and their lips locked, it was like an epiphany of perfection and greatness.

Cas’s lips were soft, and felt simply _ right. _

It was exciting just like a first kiss could be, but also comfortable and easy, like it had happened before. Maybe because of how much they trusted each other, maybe because of how long they’d been waiting for that.

It was also a little distant, like so many things were happening at once Dean couldn’t wrap his mind around any of them. Like he wasn’t appreciating enough how good it all felt.

Cas kissed him back eagerly, pushing closer and holding onto him like he was oxygen to his lungs too. 

Dean gasped softly in the kiss, heart beating so fast in his chest he believed it was going to explode.

Cas’s lips brushing his own were everything, _ beyond _-

“Finally!” Gabriel’s voice echoed in the restrooms. 

Dean and Cas separated, Cas lushed and panting. Gabriel clapped his hands, with that smug smirk of his, while Dean frowned so much he was self-conscious about it.

“The fuck, Gabriel?”

“Oh, Dean-o,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands twice. “You two are so cute! Really? Cas liking rock so much? You wincing at burgers?”

He snapped his fingers.

Dean jolted awake in his motel room.


	3. Harmonic happy endings and longed moments

Dean looked around. On the other twin bed, Cas was sitting and looking as disoriented as he felt himself. Cas was wearing his regular trench coat, not the baggy sexy shirts he’d just been wearing —in Dean’s freaking dreams, of course.

“Dean-”

“Did Gabriel really-”

At the sound of wings fluttering they turned to where Gabriel had just showed up.

“So, did you decide to act on your feelings or what?”

Dean had already done the math, but he still couldn’t believe it. “Are you for real? This was all you?”

“C’mon!” Gabriel whined. “Didn’t you notice the incongruencies? A discman showing up out of nowhere? The stupid thing was a  _ metaphor  _ for your feelings. Historically inaccurate, in fact.” Dean felt his mouth going dry. Gabriel continued, “A case about guys who pretend to play rock, and conveniently turn to dust after you kill them? And a lonely and clean restroom —in a bar?!”

“Okay, I got it!” Dean turned to Cas, feeling embarrassed. He gaped, words getting stuck in his throat.

“Dean,” Cas said, earnestly. “I want to be mad at Gabriel too.” He looked at the archangel. “It wasn’t your place-”

Gabriel put a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. “I’m doing you a favor and it’s not my place? Wow, you can just let me know if you want me to erase that from your memories-”

“No!” “No!”

Gabriel shrugged. He looked satisfied and oddly selfless. “See? Maybe I should give Cupid a few tips. Please don’t tell me I’ve lost my time: I’ll leave you two to make frantic love. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be with Sam. He’s having real interesting dreams, too.”

Dean felt sick at the image Gabriel was suggesting, but didn’t say anything. Before he even thanked him, Gabriel had disappeared, and it was only he and Cas left.

“So,” Dean said, sitting fully on the edge of his bed, facing Cas’s.

Cas took a deep breath, eyeing Dean over, slowly sitting on the edge of his bed as well. “So,” he repeated.

Dean stared into Cas’s eyes. Even doing that was difficult, not like in his dream —or their dream, if he’d understood correctly.

In  _ their  _ dream, he’d been free. He’d admitted that he liked Cas and deciding to kiss him was easy. He even had the confirmation of Sam’s support.

Now that they knew it was mutual, it should’ve been easier. Should've been, but wasn’t. They were as tense as if they didn’t already know how each other’s lips tasted.

Dean offered Cas a hand. Maybe the contact would help him get a grasp of reality, of focus.

Cas took it, their interlaced fingers hanging between the beds. Dean looked down at them, Cas using his thumb to caress the back of his hand.

Cas gently put his other hand on the bed and slowly pulled Dean in. Dean took a seat next to him, rested his forehead against Cas’s temple. 

“Cas…”

“It’s okay, Dean. I know. Me too.”

Dean put just enough space between them to look into Cas’s eyes. He put a firm arm behind his shoulders, and they hugged so tight they might as well be a couple meeting at an airport after years of being apart.

“Holy shit, Cas.”

“I know.”

“I love you,” Dean whispered. The words burned on his throat like whiskey, and he loved that too. “And I’m sorry.”

Only then Cas slowly passed his hand over Dean’s back, pulling back. “Why?”

And Dean, for a fraction of second, had time to think. For words to phrase his answer, but about the situation in general too. He almost panicked at the realization of how different his life was now than before he fell asleep. Cas nodded slowly, encouraging an answer. Dean licked his lips, “For not telling you sooner.”

Cas shook his head. “I didn’t, either. Not like that. Don’t be sorry.”

Dean pursed his lips together, lowering his head. Cas cupped his face. Dean leaned into his hand, aching for more. But he couldn’t move, he was petrified beneath Cas’s hands. He looked up into his eyes again, then at his lips.

“For God’s sake, Cas, kiss me.”

Cas closed his eyes and Dean did the same. The next thing he knew was that the same soft lips from the dream were now on his, but this time it was real, present, vivid and warm and honest, because this was the Cas he knew and the one he’d fallen in love with.

Dean finally shook himself out of his stillness, passing a hand over his hair, kissing back. One of his hands went to pull the trenchcoat, letting himself go, living on the freedom he’d treasured so much in their shared fantasy world.

He wanted to drink Cas through every peck, every move of his lips, every slight brush of tongue. He wanted to kiss Cas so deep he felt it in his soul, in his grace, in his true form, in his afterlife. Dean wanted the kiss to be loud, to become a living firework that sparked words about how much he loved Cas.

“Fuck, Cas, I’m fucking in love with you,” Dean panted on Cas’s lips, getting him out of the trench coat, loosening his tie.

“I love you, Dean. Always have,” Cas breathed back on the kiss, helping Dean out of his over shirt.

“C’mere,” Dean whispered, bringing in Cas for another kiss, pushing them down on the bed and tangling their legs together.

The bed was stupidly small for two grown men, but they’d manage.

Hips locked together, Cas’s knee behind Dean’s thigh, Cas whispered, “Wow, this feels good.”

Dean smiled. “It feels even better with less clothes on.”

And it certainly did.

There was no hurry undoing Cas’s dress shirt and slacks. Dean was slow to do it, and Cas didn’t complain. Just as patiently, Dean got out of his own jeans, stunned by the way Cas looked down at him as if he hadn’t already seen his raw soul.

In all honesty, Dean had forgotten how magical it was to just make out with the person you loved, knowing you had all the time in the world to touch and caress their body. 

He didn’t know he could miss the anticipation that grew in his chest for seeing all of Cas’s naked body, confident that it would deserve his praise.

Dean took his time to learn the texture of Cas’s back, only for a moment thinking it used to be Jimmy and feel wrong.

This was Cas now, would always be. 

And if Cas were a song it’d be the same one in any universe, and in any universe it would be Dean’s favorite.

And that gasp of pleasure he gave when Dean touched him, firm and with no clothes in the way, would always be one of his favorite sounds, along with the way Cas said his name when he worked his hand on his most vulnerable part.

“Here,” Dean said, helping him on fully on his back, finding a better angle.

“Dean,” Cas whispered again, needy and sexy.

Dean kissed him again, biting softly and keeping the rhythm of his wrist. It wasn’t long before Cas came, looking and feeling,  _ being  _ so human Dean almost forgot he was an actual celestial being.

He clinged to Dean’s arm, breathing heavily, and Dean could barely resist letting go when innocent yet dangerous hands jerked him off underneath his underwear.

Saying time stopped was a cliché, but it was what happened when Dean was in the arms of the love of his life, still flying high on endorphins and the fact that  _ he could and would have that again _ .

“Can you, um,” he looked down at their bodies, made a mess. “I don’t know, use your grace to-” Before his eyes, all the white stripes disappeared. “Nice.” Then, he accommodated even closer to Cas’s side.

“It’s nothing.”

“I love you, Cas,” Dean nuzzled on Cas’s neck. He kissed his collarbone. “Like… a lot.”

Castiel kissed his forehead. Dean felt taken care of. “Me too, Dean. I love you a lot.”

“Are we sending Gabriel a thank you letter?”

“What about a thank you playlist?”

Dean just snorted, drifting off to sleep. It was easy to relax; when he woke up again, what used to be a dream would now be his reality. 


End file.
